


salvation found (of a sort)

by Hymn



Category: GetBackers
Genre: Anal, M/M, Pre-Series, back story fic, lemme know if i missed a tag pls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-12
Updated: 2007-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-31 23:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13985226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: Sometimes you can’t keep it together, and sometimes it’s okay to let it go.





	salvation found (of a sort)

**Author's Note:**

> springkink fic

It was funny how Masaki could sweet talk just about anyone. 

It wasn’t that he was especially verbose (because he was certainly not) or that he was particularly skilled in oratory (because he wasn’t that, either). But there was something soft and sweet and golden about him, that shone from inside even in the darkness that never quite lifted from the Fortress, like his power, only not so easily manifested into comprehension. 

Teshimine knew that Masaki was good at sweet talking without actually sweet talking, because that’s the only reason he let Masaki near Ginji in the first place.

*

Raising Ginji was not an easy salvation. It was a masochistic one, in a way, because loathe as he was to admit it, sometimes, when things were wrecking into an even nastier, impossible mess, all that pure power and sad-eyed strength was tempting. Teshimine hated himself for contemplating it, and rejoiced each time that he could look Ginji in the eye after, and know that the Fortress hadn’t destroyed all the good in him yet.

In a way, it was harder still when Masaki came from nowhere, and shed his light on paths Ginji had never contemplated before. “Why are you here?” Teshimine had questioned, in the beginning, overprotective and cautious from long, tired necessity. 

Masaki, sometimes, looked like an angel who had given up its wings in order to better love the people it was wont to protect. Sometimes, he looked like a child too old for his time (kindred to Ginji, this one; no wonder they made such a beautiful pair, glorious enough to make Teshimine’s heart stop if he looked upon them long enough); and sometimes looking like a King who’d lost his throne, but none of his royalty.

“Because I like hope,” Masaki finally said, with a small smile. “And I want to protect that hope.”

“I can protect him,” Teshimine bluffed, not wanting to fight, but willing.

“No,” the throneless king of light said. “You concentrate on nurturing him. I’ll worry about keeping you all safe.”

After that, Teshimine thought it might be okay if Masaki hung around for a while, if just to see what came of it.

*

What happened was this: Masaki protected them from monsters from the Beltline, and desperate gangs, and occasionally from starvation and disease. Most importantly, though, Masaki also protected Teshimine and Ginji from Teshimine, himself.

*

“Ginji. Go play with the other children.”

Teshimine said nothing, and waited, not looking at Ginji. He sat down onto his bed, the springs creaking abysmally, sliding his hands up over his face, like he could place a mask over the parts of himself he didn’t like, and have them cease to be. He heard Ginji hesitate, and then scamper quietly out.

Silence, for too long, but Teshimine didn’t want to begin the conversation, and Masaki was probably waiting to make certain they wouldn’t be interrupted. Finally, the golden haired man said, quiet and a touch wry, “Do you need a drink?”

“A stiff one,” Teshimine said, voice muffled by his fingers. “But don’t even think about it, Masaki. That’d be suicide.”

“I’d watch your back.”

That made Teshimine huff, torn between fondness and resentment. “I know you would,” he finally said, and ran his hands through his pale hair, finally blinking up. The light from the doorway made a halo around Masaki’s solid form, and Teshimine gave a quietly amused smile. “I wouldn’t do that to you, though.”

Masaki nodded. “Maybe another time.”

“Sure,” Teshimine said, not quite believing it. “We can take Ginji out for coffee and ice cream some day.”

“Sounds like a dream come true,” Masaki murmured, moving closer. The dust that shone, caught in the beams of light, danced around him as he moved closer, leaned over Teshimine over the bed, his eyes steady and calm and comforting. “I’ll be back tonight, okay? Hang on ‘til then. Ginji doesn’t deserve what ever that look was for.”

“I know.” Teshimine grimaced, and nodded. Ginji didn’t deserve a lot of things, but there was nothing they could do about it. Not much, at least. There were some things, though, and those were things that Teshimine accepted with a graceless longing, a worshipful thankfulness. He reached up, pressed his palm to Masaki’s cheek. “I’ll be waiting.”

*

It didn’t fix anything. Teshimine didn’t really think anything could ever fix all the things broken inside of them, inside of their world. But it helped; it made it bearable. It wasn’t a pushing back of the darkness Teshimine sometimes found in himself, so much as it was a grounding of it. 

*

There was something magical and ineffable about Masaki’s mouth. Teshimine couldn’t decide if it was demon or angel wrought, the sweet things it could say, the twisted things that tongue could do. In the end, Teshimine decided that it was a human tongue, to an ethereal level: gloriously balanced and wretchedly beautiful.

Masaki’s mouth was hot against Teshimine’s ear, tongue flickering out in little wet licks as he spoke. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week, babe. Anytime you think about bitching out the kids, think about this, tonight, think about you on your knees, your ass in the air; think about how you’re my bitch, mine. I’ll swallow your anger and frustration and sadness, and fuck the rest of you hollow so it doesn’t weigh you down.”

Teshimine moaned, tossing his head. Masaki’s voice was a low, golden-dark throb across his entire being. Through the window the moon cast everything pale and silver; it was Teshimine’s time, rather than the bright day of Masaki, and Teshimine felt himself melt into the shadows, into the welcome of Masaki’s words. 

“You taste so good,” Masaki groaned, sliding his mouth across Teshimine’s cheekbone to his mouth, pressing him down, his warm, hard body grinding slowly against Teshimine’s. “Like ash and rainy promises; like evening and good dreams. You taste like sex, and hunger, and need.”

Teshimine wrapped his arms tight around Masaki’s neck, slid his thighs open, so that Masaki could settle there, crying out quietly when their erections rubbed slickly together.

“That’s it, beautiful. Spread yourself open for me, like a little whore. It’s okay to do that, with me. You can be cheap, and low, and hated, and I’ll love you anyway, I’ll fuck you and drink you down, and take you for mine, even at your lowest.”

Slick fingers were at his opening already, and Teshimine propped himself up, breath hitching on a beg. “Yes, yes, fuck yes,” Masaki whispered reverently, “just like that, babe. I’m gonna fuck you wide open on my fingers, get you good and ready for my cock, make you feel so good.” 

And he did just that, twisted them in deep, rubbed sinfully along the warm, soft walls of his anus until Teshimine was twitching and sobbing in tune to the brushes Masaki gave, teasingly, to his prostate. He spread him wide, gaping, hungry, and then slid his cock right into him.

“Hot, hot and tight and beautiful, no matter what you think. Teshimine, Teshimine, fuck, you’re delicious, I love fucking you.”

Masaki slid out, leaving Teshimine empty and blinking dazedly at the ceiling; then he slid back in, filling Teshimine over, making him groan and shake and wrap his legs to try and get that hard cock in further, deeper, longer. He rode Masaki and Masaki rode him, and they fucked so hard that it turned Teshimine tender, and the words rasped out like golden liquid fire (better than any brandy or scotch, Teshimine would swear) slurred together into a nonsense melody in his ears.

*

In the morning, Masaki would dress, and make coffee, and Teshimine would lounge in bed a little longer, feeling worked over, and used, and wonderful, Masaki’s words – all of them – imprinted on his soul, resounding in his memory, leaving him at a temporary peace.


End file.
